


halfpace

by burnshoney, poetroe



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Sign Language, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bitterness, Blood and Injury, Complicated Relationships, Deaf Character, Exes, F/F, Mild Language, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Break Up, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Stitches, Two Shot, college sweethearts, does it count as slowburn if they're exes of five years, i'm making the executive decision it is i just want them to kiss it out, showering together, spider-man au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21504451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnshoney/pseuds/burnshoney, https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetroe/pseuds/poetroe
Summary: "Don't," the superheroine rasps dryly and the eyes of her mask twitch with the same mechanical clicking, "secret...identity."She gasps the words and Janai's humorless chuckles sound heavy to her own ears. "You're an idiot I still see," she rasps but stands anyway without taking off the mask,"Amaya."At her name, Spidey's eyes widen before falling back to their previous lidded state. "Ihadhoped I got the apartment number right."
Relationships: Amaya/Janai (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 234





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i had 1.3k of this written when suddenly yesterday i decided i hated it and scrapped it completely. starting from scratch, i managed to rope poetroe ( @ earthbIood on twitter) into it as well and now? it's HUGE
> 
> just gonna give a warning there is a LOT of blood in this fic. i did tons of research and it should go without saying that if you're stabbed go! to! the! hospital! don't stitch yourself up at home or drag yourself to your exes' house. enough said.
> 
> when i asked poet if they wanted to say anything they said "i guess just that i had fun w this fic !!! both writing and talking about the details w u and that i hope they enjoy it" and then, more embarrassingly, "AND they should check out ur other works" (to which i say check out poetroe's other works too!!)
> 
> part two should be out on friday, or as twitter has dubbed it, JANAYA NATION CHRISTMAS so!! see y'all then!

Janai wakes with a start, sitting straight up in bed and freezing. The apartment is silent, eerily - and she clenches the sheets in her hands as she strains to hear whatever had woken her.

There's a muted crash outside her bedroom door followed by muted pounding and Janai mutters a curse as she slips out of bed. "Just my luck," she sneers and ties off her bathrobe before reaching for the baseball bat propped up by the doorframe. "Whoever you are, get lost!"

No answer. The tapping continues.

She blows out an irritated breath to tamper down how her heart bangs against her ribs at the silence. Adrenaline racing, she reaches for the doorknob with a trembling hand and holds her breath as it clicks open with a groan. Holding the bat like she's getting ready to hit a homerun, shoulders squared, Janai steps out into the hallway.

"I'm warning you! I'm armed! Get lost before I call the police."

Her socked feet make no sound against the floorboards. A few footsteps later, the main room of her apartment comes into view and her eyes dart around the small space.

The pounding stutters to a stop.

It's still and dark. Every few seconds the shadows on the far wall of the living room shift as a car rushes by and the sound of the motor fades into the distance. If Janai would cross to the large bay windows that look out across the cityscape - the thing that drew her to the apartment in the first place - she knows she would see drunk college students stumbling along the sidewalk, rowdy and high on the Tuesday night air.

Janai peeks at the blue blinking numbers above the stove and frowns. Well,  _ Wednesday morning,  _ actually.

Her hands tighten around the bat when there's a low, hushed groaning noise and a single knock. More than any of the other sounds, it's more like someone is knocking at her window than pounding and Janai rounds the kitchen island. The only thing blocking her view to the fire escape right outside her window is the couch and she closes her eyes for a split second before stepping around it, blood rushing through her ears with the high of adrenaline.

Janai freezes. 

It's dark outside but the lampposts from the street cast  _ just enough  _ light down the alley between her apartment building and the next for her to see -

_ for her to see - _

She doesn't realize she's dropped the bat until it hits her foot with a loud clatter but the pain registers dully in the moment before she's running to the window. Janai's fingers tremble when she unlocks the clasp at the top of the pane and yanks the sash up hurriedly. The whole wooden frame groans, gets stuck halfway but she tugs again and it slides upwards.

There's suddenly no air in her apartment because there's a dark, prone figure slumped in the shadows of her fire escape balcony that despite all the years between them, Janai would recognize  _ anywhere  _ and not just because the person is one of the most decorated and recognizable figures in all of New York City. Her voice is hoarse, rough, breathless, bubbling up from somewhere aching deep in her chest.

"Spider-Woman?"

The figure doesn't move and Janai is halfway through reaching through the open window when there's a low groan and the superheroine shifts. The movement draws Janai's eyes down and she sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth at the spandex-covered hand that's pressed to Spider-Woman's abdomen. Even in the dark, she can see the shiny wetness that glitters when Spider-Woman stirs and suddenly Janai's not concerned at the symbol of justice bleeding out on her balcony but the woman underneath it all.

The very real, very unconscious and  _ very  _ hurt woman beneath the mask.

Janai doesn't hesitate to crawl out onto the balcony. The fire escape is cramped and the cold of the metal grating bites into her knees but she doesn't pause before crouching before the still superheroine. Her elbow knocks gently into the plant to her right when Janai waves a hand in front of Spider-Woman's mask. "Hey, can you hear me? Spidey, blink if you can hear me."

For a heart-stopping second, there's no movement. But then there's the sound of slight mechanical whirring and the blank white eye panels of Spider-Woman's mask open and close slowly.

Janai's chest leaps. "Oh, thank God." She's not unconscious then -  _ good.  _ It'll make getting the superheroine inside a lot easier.

"I'm going to move you," she murmurs and hesitates before slipping her arms underneath the superheroine's armpits. "Is that okay? I can help you if you let me. Blink once if you can understand me."

Thankfully, Spider-Woman is too out of it to hear the underlying aching in Janai's voice and blinks. Janai nods to herself more than anything else and slides her hands under the superheroine's armpits before pulling her towards the window. Although she bangs her arm on the wooden frame while trying to transfer Spidey into her arms once she's back inside the apartment, Janai muffles a hurt cry between her lips and grits her teeth through the pain.

Spidey had whimpered at the jostling of her wound - Janai couldn't move her without having to irritate the injury but her throat still goes thick at the sound - but has since gone silent and Janai hefts her into her arms. As big and bright as the superheroine looks on TV and plastered across newspaper fronts, the real woman is small and light in Janai's arms, a memory that tugs at her heavy tongue as Janai gingerly sets her down on the couch.

Almost unconsciously, Janai slips her hand underneath Spidey's head to cradle it into the throw pillows. She kneels against the wooden floors and doesn't realize she's reaching for where she knows the lip of her mask is until Spidey catches her wrist weakly.

The superheroine's pulse point jumps under Janai's touch from where her fingertips brush Spidey's neck. Janai pulls back as if she's been burned.

"Don't," the superheroine rasps dryly and the eyes of her mask twitch with the same mechanical clicking, "secret...identity."

She gasps the words and Janai's humorless chuckles sound heavy to her own ears. "You're an idiot I still see," she rasps but stands anyway without taking off the mask,  _ "Amaya." _

At her name, Spidey's eyes widen before falling back to their previous lidded state. "I  _ had  _ hoped I got the apartment number right."

Janai swallows the thickness of her tongue. 

"Congratulations," she says flatly, "you're lucky I didn't leave you out there. I'm not in the habit of inviting strangers that crash on my fire balcony at 1AM to bleed all over my couch. Especially ones that broke my heart."

Amaya winces - from the words or the steadily bleeding hole in her side, Janai doesn't know - and Janai balls her hands so she doesn't say anything else as she turns away. She's mentally running through everything she'll need when fingers wrap around her wrist.

She pauses. "Janai," Amaya murmurs. "Janai, I-"

"Save it," she growls and twists her wrist from Amaya's grasp. Janai doesn't let herself linger on how her chest sinks when Amaya's fingers fall away without any further prompting and she stomps away.

Amaya doesn't say a thing - just lets her go and  _ maybe that's the worst part. _

Janai slams the bathroom door behind her as if the woman on the couch doesn't already know how angry she is. She rips the first aid kit from the cabinet underneath the sink, still frowning, and is straightening to grab the scissors from behind the mirror when she pauses.

Her reflection stares back at her. Janai's hand falls to her side.

She looks so  _ tired.  _ Where she thought she would look furious, red in the face, she just looks pale. Drawn, like she's carrying around a weight on her shoulders she thought she packed into a cardboard box along with Amaya's things over five years ago. Thought she dumped in the woman's arms, along with her heart and every bit of happiness she hoped for the future.

Janai starts when her fingertips brush her cheeks and come away wet. She's begun to cry without realizing it. Swiping at her cheeks roughly, she slams the kit onto the countertop and splashes her face with ice-cold water that runs from the tap when she twists the handle. When she raises her head, her cheeks drip with sink water not tears and the ruddiness has faded.

_ Good.  _ She's been beyond crying over Amaya Evans for  _ five years. _

She sucks in a long breath, gathers the kit and scissors from the cup behind the mirror and bottle of rubbing alcohol and marches back into the living room like she's about to fight a battle, not stitch back together her high-school-and-college sweetheart. Her  _ ex. _

Janai dumps the pile in her arms on the coffee table without pretense and drags it over closer to the couch. Amaya hasn't moved since she left and Janai detours to the kitchen to grab a few ratty towels and a bottle of brandy from the cabinet before kneeling by her side.

The woman doesn't move, hand still pressed to her side. "Hey, Spidey," she frowns and snaps her fingers in front of the mask's eye panels, "wake up."

Spidey's eyes jerk open, limbs flailing for a moment and Janai realizes with a sinking sensation in her stomach she let the superhero fall asleep. If she has a concussion, falling asleep is the  _ last  _ thing she wants.

"It's just me," Janai says and presses her hand to Spidey's shoulder where the superhero had started to sit up. The muscles below her hand lock up and the woman hisses in pain as her spasms jostle her side. "I need you to stay awake. I have to check if you have a concussion."

Amaya nods before groaning and falling back into the throw pillows. She falls back into the pillows with a low groan.

Janai worries her lip between her teeth and twists open the cap of the rubbing alcohol. She pours it into a low dish also taken from the kitchen before sapping open the first aid kit. Thanking her past-self silently, she slips on the latex gloves at the top and rips open the small package that contains a needle and thread for stitching.

Even all these years later, she remembers exactly how to stitch an open wound closed at home. She almost snorts at the memory. 

"I'm going to turn on the light," she warns and taps the side of Amaya's cheek through the mask. "Close your eyes and take off your mask."

Amaya's shoulders tighten at her words but Janai ignores her, reaching up to click on the lamp on the sidetable next to the couch. A warm yellow glow illuminates the room and Janai watches, leaning back on her heels, as Spidey slowly peels off her mask.

Suddenly Janai can't pretend the superheroine in front of her is solely Spider-Woman and not Amaya Evans. In the light of the lamp, Amaya's cheekbones look gaunt and high, skin paler than usual and Janai tampers down the urge to cup her cheek at the sight of a scar she’s never seen before, twisted and pink, right below her right eye.

She lost the privilege of comforting Amaya Evans five years ago.

_ Stay still,  _ she signs, knowing it's easier for Amaya to read lips with her mask on and - at least in the past - preferred sign language when she wasn't in costume.  _ You know the drill. _

Amaya's split lip leaks a line of burgundy when she smiles crookedly.  _ No moving. Got it. I remember. _

Silence falls between them, heavy and thick and dark, as Janai gently shines a light in each eye. Amaya's gaze on her is palpable when Janai twists to set down the small flashlight and Janai refuses to meet her eyes when she turns back around. 

_ Follow my finger. _

Amaya complies wordlessly. Hand not pressed to her side laying limply on the couch, her dark chocolate eyes follow Janai's every movement and Janai sits back after a few minutes.

_ You don't have a concussion. Move your hand. I need to see your side. _

Janai shifts on her knees so she's level with Amaya's side and ignores the twinge in her chest at how Amaya smothers a whimper between clenched teeth when she peels away her hand. The dark spandex of her Spidey outfit is even darker, stained with blood and slick, and Janai sucks in a sharp breath.

Amaya's hands come up.  _ Stitches, doc? _

_ I need to clean it first. Stay still. Drink this,  _ she signs back instead of answering and Asami blinks owlishly at the half-empty bottle of brandy Janai presses into her hands.

She grins weakly and opens it.  _ My favorite part,  _ she signs with one hand before gulping down three swallows before passing it back and relaxing against the arm of the couch.  _ Your taste in alcohol hasn't changed I see. _

_ I see you're still an idiot who can't resist a fight,  _ Janai shoots back before upturning the remaining liquid in the bottle onto one of the towels. She shifts closer to the couch until her knees knock against the front and hands Amaya a washcloth.  _ I'm going to have to cut your suit before I clean it. This is going to hurt. Bite down. _

Amaya doesn't quip back and raises a hand streaked with her own blood to press the folded cloth between her teeth. She shifts imperceptibly against the couch and Janai watches her until the unmasked superheroine sends her a weak thumbs-up.

Janai hesitates for a split second before the scissors slice through the spandex fabric. She keeps her head down as she snips and as she carefully cuts around the hole in Amaya's side, Janai truly realizes how  _ thin  _ her costume is. The dark blue scraps fall into her lap and her pajama bottoms are quickly stained with the superheroine's blood that bleeds into them from the spandex.

When she finally sets down the scissors, Janai leans forward and levels the flashlight with the wound. The bleeding has started to slow, mercifully, and she glances up at Amaya who looks queasy and pained.

_ Do I need to pull out a bullet first? _

Amaya shakes her head.  _ Knife,  _ she signs.  _ Clean stab.  _

Janai hates the relief that rushes through her blood at that and passes the superheroine the flashlight.  _ Keep this as level as you can,  _ she signs before picking up the red towel soaked in alcohol.  _ This is going to sting. _

_ Promises, promises,  _ Amaya smirks weakly, eyes glinting and smothers a scream into the washcloth clenched between her teeth as Janai begins to clean the stab wound.

Janai's heart threatens to come out of her mouth. She swallows down bile and ducks her head, blocking out the little whimpers and groans Amaya bites back as she wipes at the skin around the stab, cleaning away layer after layer of dried blood carefully. When Janai dabs at the flayed skin around the cut, Amaya's back rolls upwards with a cry that isn't quite muffled.

Even though tears burn angrily at her eyes, Janai presses an insistent hand to Amaya's hip, forcing her back onto the couch. "I'm sorry," she chokes wetly even though she know Amaya can't hear her as she passes over the stab again and Amaya  _ sobs _ , "I'm sorry. Hold on. It'll be over soon."

It's more reassurance for herself than Amaya and Janai ignores how her hands tremble. There's Amaya's blood streaked all over her fingers but Janai pushes through the bile and throws the towel aside to grab another. Out of everything she's missed about Amaya, this isn't one of them. 

All these years later, her stomach still threatens to turn over at the sight of Amaya's blood under her fingernails, staining the navy of her suit and smeared across the pale expanse of her creamy skin. The towel hovers above the cut, still smeared with blood but looking better than before and Janai gives into the pit in her stomach.

Even though she knows she shouldn't, Janai looks up. There are free-flowing tears dripping down Amaya's cheeks and her eyes are rimmed red as pale lips clamp down on the washcloth between her teeth. Her chest heaves with trembling cries as tears disappear into the collar of her costume after rolling down her neck and Janai doesn't realize she's reaching up until her fingertip brushes Amaya's cheek.

They both freeze.

Janai swallows down the urge to look away and wipes away another tear. Amaya's eyes search her face before she must find something she likes because she's relaxing, shoulders releasing some of the tension and leaning into the touch. Janai opens her mouth, tongue dry, words about to tip off the edge -

Amaya seizes up suddenly, eyes rolling into the back of her head as she cries out once before collapsing limply back into the pillows. 

Janai's entire chest lurches painfully and she closes her eyes. Hot tears run down her cheeks unabashed and she doesn't wipe them away like she did Amaya's - there's blood streaked on Amaya's cheeks where she touched her with the gloves still on - and something like relief curls sickly deep in Janai's stomach.

She's passed out from the pain. 

Almost mercifully, if Amaya is unconscious she can't feel what Janai's about to do. With all the blood cleared away she can see the five-inch-long cut from the knife that had plunged into the superheroine's side and immediately she's tampering down cold, sweating nausea.

Trembling fingers string the needle, tie off the thread and Janai rolls her shoulders before wedging the abandoned flashlight between her teeth and leaning in. She squeezes the two sides of Amaya's side together, steadies her hand, closes her eyes for a moment.

One breath, two.

Janai opens her eyes.

The needle pierces skin, sliding cleanly through one flap. The glide is so smooth Janai is strangely fascinated and she hesitates for a second as she looks up at the slack face of Amaya. Her cheek has fallen against the arm of the couch, eyebrows scrunched with pain even in unconsciousness and Janai refocuses herself. She can't afford to be distracted.

She puts her head down, sucks in a deep breath through her nose and makes another stitch.  _ Another.  _ Time narrows to the flashlight beam on Amaya's skin, the sound of the needle passing though her skin, Janai tugging gently on the thread to close the wound and tying it off.

As soon as she snips the thread, she's throwing the bloody needle and remaining thread that hangs limply onto the coffee table, peeling off her gloves and burying her face in her hands. Heaving, dry sobs echo through her quiet apartment and Janai's hands shake when she clutches them to herself.

Amaya's hand hangs off the side of the couch limply. Even with blood on her forearms as it is, Janai takes it and holds the appendage between her palms. Her hand is cold and Janai breathes heavily onto it as if this little bit of warmth will make a difference.

The superheroine doesn't shift. There's no movement behind her eyelids when Janai finally stands.

In the distance, the sky is starting to turn a dark indigo instead of inky navy and Janai rolls out her shoulders. She doesn't know how long she stands there, staring out the window and still holding Amaya's hand as the sky gradually fades into blazing ambers and soft, buttery yellows. Baby pink chases away harsh orange and Janai forces herself to let go of Amaya's hand.

Her pulse flutters but stays strong beneath Janai's fingers and Janai breathes out weakly. Good. They're out of the woods.

She's going to be okay.

Janai doesn't give herself time to wonder why that thought saturates the hole in her chest so wonderfully and fully. Instead of lingering, she makes herself gather the bloody towels and empty brandy bottle and walk away.

She drops the towels into the hamper. In her hands, the scraps of Amaya's suit look thin, fragile and Janai closes her eyes as she throws them into the trash before wandering back over to where the woman in question lays supine on her couch.

Amaya's head lolls against her shoulder when she hoists the superheroine into her arms. It's all too easy to lift her off the couch with one hand across her shoulder blades and another underneath the backs of her knees and Janai takes gentle, small steps towards the back of her apartment.

There's no question to where Amaya will stay.

Janai hesitates in the doorway of her bedroom. Amaya's suit is still covered in blood, torn in places and after a moment Janai lays her down gently amidst the blankets of her bed before turning to her dresser.

The sun rises further and further in the distance. Janai tucks Amaya into the sheets after wrestling her into clothes that aren’t torn, bloody navy spandex and sits down on the edge of the mattress. She seems unable to tear her eyes away from her face and almost unconsciously her thumb traces the puckered scar on her right cheekbone. 

She snatches her hand back. If she can't control herself around Amaya, she'll do what she's always done; walk away. But unlike the time before, when a door slammed closed between them and her apartment was empty, the door closed between them is cracked. Her apartment isn’t empty. 

Her feet are cold when she wanders back into the living room and Janai frowns, crossing the space to wrench down the window. In everything that’s happened in the last hour or so, she forgot to close the fire escape window in favor of stitching New York City’s resident dumbass superhero back together.

Janai spots the large rust-colored stain on the fire escape and sits down on the couch heavily, burying her face in her face. What was Amaya  _ thinking?  _ What was she doing out so late? Wasn’t her sister worried?

She lifts her head.  _ Sarai _ . She has to call Sarai.

Janai’s halfway to where her phone’s plugged into the wall outlet next to the TV when she pauses. She doesn’t even know if she still has Sarai’s number anymore, honestly. She unlocks her phone, scrolls through the (very little) contacts and lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

No  _ Sarai Evans  _ in her contact list. She has no way of telling her old friend that her little sister got herself stabbed half to death the night before and to come pick her up before she bleeds out in Janai’s bed.

Shrugging, Janai throws the phone back on the table and stretches her arms high above her head. Exhaling slowly, she relishes in the feeling in both of her shoulders popping before peeping into her bedroom.

Amaya hasn’t moved. Janai snatches sweatpants and a sweatshirt from her dresser before tiptoeing to the bathroom and turning the water as hot as it’ll go. As she waits for the shitty pipes of her apartment to warm up, she sheds her bloody pajama pants and grips the sink.

She doesn’t recognize her in the mirror.

It’s been five years since she’s seen Amaya Evans, five years since she shared a bed with her and now she’s passed out in Janai’s bed as if those five years were nothing more than a blink. Like Amaya never pushed her away, crying, hugging her arms to her ribs like Janai was a sledgehammer that threatened to shatter them. Like  _ Janai  _ was the one that hurt her; not the other way around.

Janai tears her eyes away from the mirror and steps into the shower. The water is hot, so hot it makes her go numb immediately.  _ Good. _

She’s felt enough in the last hour to last a lifetime.

Her skin burns when she finally turns the water off and steps from the shower. Through the fog on the mirror, Janai can see how her skin glows angrily from the irritation and she keeps her eyes down as she dresses, pulling a sweatshirt and sweatpants on before wandering back into her apartment.

A quick check-in (because now that she’s Amaya once, she can’t seem to stop looking) reveals she still hasn’t moved and Janai works quietly. The washer is off-balance from where it’s shoved in the corner of the kitchen and begins to rattle as it washes away all the blood from the night - morning? - before and Janai doesn’t realize she’s reaching for the remote until the TV blinks on.

She freezes, scrambling for the volume and leaning forward.

“-it happened earlier this morning,” the reporter says, “according to the owner of the shop. According to the police, footage from security cameras confirms the speculation that Spider-Woman, NYC’s favorite superheroine, successfully stopped a robbery of this store before the perpetrators got away and apprehended the suspects for the police to find when they were notified.”

Janai seems unable to breathe as she watches the screen switch to a shot of the damage to the shop. Shelves are overturned, the cash register battered and broken, and the glass of the front is strewn across the sidewalk. The camera zooms in on the police cutting down the webs and if Janai squints, she can see the vague faces of the men webbed to the side of the building.

The reporter appears again. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Spider-Woman, ma’am?”

She holds the microphone to a shorter woman with blonde hair who grins at the camera. Although the name of the shop owner appears at the bottom of the screen, Janai pays it no mind.

“I’d just like to say thank you to Spidey, if she’s watching this,” the owner gushes, “and that if she ever needs anything from my store, it’s on the house! She stopped a robbery of my store and even left a note. Without her, I know I would be out of business. So thank you, Spider-Woman! We love you!”

There’s cheering from behind them from a crowd that’s started to amass behind the police tape and Janai smiles. The camera pans to the crowd, who cheers louder - some wearing masks like Spider-Woman’s - before cutting back to the reporter who has a hand pressed to her ear.

“It seems like the police have released the security tapes for the public to see. Please be warned, parents, that scenes from it may be disturbing for young children.” She lowers her voice. “NYPD confirmed that it seems Spider-Woman was injured in the skirmish.”

The TV goes black before a timestamp appears, and a shaky, pixelated image of the outside of the shop appears. Janai finds herself leaning forward, unable to look away, even as her hands begin to tremble.

She knows she shouldn’t watch. She knows she should turn off the news right now, shouldn’t let the images play out in front of her. She’s smarter than this - Amaya and her had made a pact when they were younger and in love and Amaya still let her into her life; that Janai wouldn’t watch the fights where Amaya got hurt.

It kept them both sane.

Janai doesn’t reach for the remote to turn the TV off. The scene plays out painfully in front of her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE PLEASE _PLEASE_ GO GIVE POETROE ALL THE LOVE FOR WRITING THE FLASHBACK FIGHT SCENE AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS CHAPTER - I'M HOPELESS WHEN IT COMES TO ACTION SEQUENCES AND THEY ABSOLUTELY CRUSHED IT!!!!!!!! AND!! while you're at it go check out their meet cute modern janaya au, [always the light falls (softly down on the hair of my beloved)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19742725). it's so good and i read it daily.
> 
> alright post-s3 janaya nation, how we feelin?
> 
> onto the second part! thank you everyone who read, commented, left kudos and subscribed :) you have poet and i's heart!

_ The cold won’t do much to keep criminals off the street; Spider-Woman knows that. Still, as she’s patrolling the city from high over the rooftops and a freezing gale picks up, feeling like it blows straight through her, Amaya can’t help but hope for an uneventful night. The material of her suit is flexible but flimsy and her powers do enough to prevent her from getting hypothermia, but it’s no warmth that could ever compare to being back home, inside, with Callum and Ezran. _

_ Amaya shoots another web and slings over the late night traffic. The vibrations of rumbling motors and a static, staccato bass coming from one of the cars drift upwards, into Amaya’s range. If she can hear it from up here the volume must be up so high the driver is destroying their eardrums; Amaya grimaces meekly at the irony of that thought and keeps swinging. The mechanics in her mask click softly as her eye panels adjust and she focuses her vision on the sidewalks, and beyond them, the dim lit alleyways that hold all types of trash.  _

_ An hour passes, maybe two—for all the things it did improve, what Amaya has jokingly called her ‘spidey sense’ has done nothing to improve her sense of time. Moving around the city now, she can hear slivers of noise the way she never could before being bitten. The low trembling bass, coming from speakers in all places, apartments and cars, the high piercing sirens of a police car speeding on the other side of the river, with everything in between being nothing but whispers. It’s the biggest joke the universe could’ve played on her, Amaya thinks. Giving someone who has been deaf since birth super-hearing (along with the super-everything else) has not exactly improved her situation. She tugs on her mask, rubbing her temples, and the vibrations of sound and the subway barreling through the tunnels below the asphalt quiet down, somewhat. _

_ It’s when she strolls down a completely deserted street, away from the never-sleeping city center, that her spidey sense kicks in, in its most essential sense. Amaya never knows why or when to duck, or how to act, but it comes over her, irrepressible like an intense spell of nausea. She has barely processed the familiar feeling or her body is already bending down, twisting and grabbing the bastard that was about to put a bullet between her ribs by the hand, bending it at an angle that hands aren’t supposed to bend in until he drops the pistol. When it happens, Amaya is never fully in control—the spider venom that got her these powers seems intent on making sure she survives and keeps them—she does, however, have full command over what happens next.  _

_ The gun clatters to the ground as Amaya narrows her eyes and punches her attacker square on the nose. _

_ “ _ Dude _ ,” a voice comes from behind him and Amaya realises that muddled beat she’d been listening to was a second heartbeat, mixed with the one of the guy whose nose is bleeding profusely, now. “You did  _ not  _ just try to shoot Spidey.” _

_ “What else was I supposed to do?” he mutters, teeth stained red. Knees still buckling from the force of the hit, he rises back to his feet. “There’s no other way out of this, you know that.” Her mask whirs softly as Amaya notices the black duffel bag, the weight of which strains the handles. Then she notices the bodega they’re standing in front of. New York is full of them, but this one looks a little worse for wear with a sea of shards littering the sidewalk, the inside looking all kinds of messed up as well. Amaya can feel the glass crack below her feet as she shifts her weight—she hadn’t even noticed, having been so caught up in the silent noise and the sudden attack. _

_ She hates her powers sometimes; especially when their sensitivity causes her to miss things. Not wasting any more time than she already has, Amaya shoots a web right in the center of the chest of the criminal who had tried to shoot her in the back and flings him upwards with all her power. He probably screams loudly as he’s catapulted some 25 feet in the air, but Amaya doesn’t hear it. Instead, she raises her arms and shoots two webs at the other guy, who turns out to be faster than he looks. Letting go of the duffel bag, he drops and rolls out of the way, and when he gets back up and pounces on her, a harsh gleam in the yellow streetlight tells Amaya he’s holding a large knife. She jumps back, shooting another web before her eyes flit back up. _

_ The guy is falling back down to earth rapidly, but Amaya wouldn’t be NYC’s beloved Spidey if she couldn’t do something fun with that. Grinning, she hits him in the leg with a web shot by her left hand, while jumping up and shooting another to the corner of a building with her right. As she uses her right arm to hurl herself into the air, she uses her momentum and the power in her left arm to swing him right into his buddy with the knife. _

Strike, _ Amaya thinks to herself with a smug grin, before swinging back down. The two men are still in a heap on the ground as she lands, more glass breaking below her heels, and Amaya approaches them with a bit of swagger in her step. Looks like this might turn into an early night after all, she thinks as she raises her right arm, inside of her wrist up to wrap these guys into her industrial grade spiderwebs. _

_ It all happens in the space of a second and Amaya feels her stomach turn, her spidey sense telling her things are about to go terribly wrong. The strong smell of sweat and nicotine enters her nostrils. The mechanism attached to her wrist clicks, the web comes out and Amaya moves, trying to get away as one of the men rises, cold metal flickering in his hand. _

_ The timing is very unfortunate. The knife enters her stomach through her suit just as the web releases and wraps around the pair, sticking their hands to their bodies and their bodies to each other. Amaya groans as her belly starts searing with pain, a consistent hurt that swelters painfully with the slightest movement. _

_ This is nothing, she tells herself. Life has thrown her curveballs before and she’s always come out on top. This is nothing. Amaya clenches her jaw and ignores the pain as she grabs one of the guys by his collar, drags them over to the side of the shop, before lifting them up and using her free hand to web them to the side of it. Out of spite and because her abdomen  _ really fucking hurts, _ she makes sure to slam the face of the guy who stabbed her into the brick wall. _

_ Their matching nose bleeds don’t appease her pain as much as Amaya had hoped it would and she presses her cool hand against the wound. Thick red blood starts welling up and Amaya grimaces through the mask. The pain is starting to make her feel lightheaded. Abdomen wounds will make her bleed out the slowest, she remembers. Getting stabbed in an artery would’ve made her bleed out the fastest. She’ll make it, Amaya tells herself, as she bites the inside of her cheek and pulls the knife out. Immediately, the wound starts bleeding profusely and Amaya curses internally. Right. Wrong move. She drops the knife and presses her right hand to the wound quickly. _

_ With the pressing knowledge that she should get out of here before the police come to see what a guy flying up the height of building is all about, combined with the pain in her abdomen that’s starting to become untenable, Amaya starts moving again. _

_ She’s slower than usual, but she manages to lift the duffel bag and carry it inside with her waning strength. ‘Sorry for the trouble,’ she writes on a piece of paper that’s lying around the mess that has become of the shop, signing it with Spidey, her nickname around town. The paper gets slightly stained with the blood from her hand, but Amaya can’t bring herself to really care as she stumbles outside. _

Amaya wakes with a start. Pain immediately jolts through her and she groans, curling up, her hand coming to press to her side for a moment and when she expects it to come away covered in blood, there's only a few streaks of dried red there instead.

She rips the hem of the soft sleep shirt upwards and eyes the seven stitches that march angrily across her skin. It’s nothing new, just another scar to add to the countless other that litter her entire body but this one isn’t jagged and shaky like when she’s had to sew herself up.

It’s clean, neat. The sutures are even and it’s tied off in a precise knot, not a tangle of thread like hers. Amaya blinks.

_ Where to now? Home is out of the question with this amount of blood. Hospitals too—Amaya had made that mistake once before, and she’s really not feeling like giving up her secret identity over a mere flesh wound. She looks around the quiet street. Above her, a handful of stars manage to shine through the lights of the city. There is one person who could handle seeing her like this, Amaya contemplates. She probably wouldn’t be welcome, but Janai isn’t the type to just turn away someone with a stab wound. Or, at least, she wasn’t when Amaya knew her. _

Where is she?

_ The shock starts to wear off as she goes over her other options again, and Amaya shivers. Her hand, still pressed to the wound, is warm and sticky with blood. She sighs as she starts walking. She doesn’t even know how she’s going to get up there; all she knows is that Janai is going to be  _ so _ pissed. _

Shit.

She  _ didn’t. _

Amaya traces the stitches, ignoring the pain, and closes her eyes. 

_ Janai. _

She has to get out of here -  _ now _ . Still cradling her side, Amaya sits up with a long exhale through gritted teeth and swings her legs over the side of the bed. When she goes to stand her vision whites out in pain and Amaya cries out, extends a hand to catch herself against the hardwood floors, screws her eyes closed in anticipation of the fall- 

Nothing.

She cracks open an eye. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, stupid,” her ex scoffs but the venom in her eyes isn’t as potent as Amaya remembers from the last time she saw her. “Sleep well?”

She stands Amaya up straight and Amaya reaches for the doorframe as she wavers once on her feet. Her hands come up to sign and she duly notes they’re bare and there’s dried blood underneath her fingernails - nothing new, of course.  _ So I made it, then. I wasn’t so sure. _

Janai snorts.  _ You definitely made it, alright. You’re welcome by the way.  _ She starts down the hall, still signing and Amaya gingerly follows.  _ I stitched you up and tried to call your sister to come get you but Sarai didn’t pick up. I’ll need you to give me her number. _

Any attempt at humor falls flat on Amaya’s tongue. Although it’s been a year, Amaya still finds herself out of breath at the mention of her sister. She squeezes her eyes shut, blood rushing through her ears as that night comes back, Sarai running after her, the panicked stretch of her mouth as the gun leveled at her chest, the expanse of her chest as she fell back with a  _ bang  _ and Amaya had heard herself screaming for the first time.

Tears spring to her eyes as she steadies herself on the wall of the corridor. Ahead of her, Janai pauses, half-turning. “Amaya? You alright?”

“Shower,” she rasps out through a raw throat and Janai doesn’t question, just leads her gently into the bathroom. Amaya slides onto the toilet seat, drops her face into her hands, and forces down the burning in her eyes. 

After a moment, Janai’s hand leaves her shoulder to start the water and Amaya breathes out shakily. She knows the trembling throughout her entire body isn’t just blood loss, or shock, or exhaustion. She’s spent a  _ year  _ reconciling the name of her sister on her own lips and other people’s, on the lips of her two nephews that are now hers because their father is still alive but he’s gone, too, a different kind of gone-

_ Her nephews. _ Callum. Ezran.

Amaya jerks upwards and pain ripples through her. Janai’s there in an instant, steadying her, pressing an insistent hand to her shoulder to force her back. When she looks up, Janai’s talking quickly, something about  _ pop your stitches  _ and  _ calm down! _

_ Boys,  _ Amaya signs shakily.  _ Call the boys. Callum and Ezran. _

_ They’re with you?  _ Janai signs, eyebrows knitted as she tries to understand.  _ Let me call Sarai to come get them so I can get you home. _

Amaya’s shaking her head, shutting her eyes to the hot stinging of tears before she freezes. Janai doesn’t know.

_ Janai doesn’t know. _

Her hands tremble with the potential weight of having to tell Janai that her old friend is gone, along with her husband but when Amaya opens her eyes, Janai is staring down at her hands like she  _ understands.  _ Like she  _ gets it,  _ like the knowledge that Sarai’s number in her phone isn’t just gone because she deleted it in the anger post-breakup.

Amaya’s shoulders turn in as she sobs and suddenly the blood underneath her fingernails isn’t hers, from the stitches holding her side together, but Sarai’s as Amaya scrambles to stem the bullethole in her chest. She’s back in that alley, screaming until her throat goes numb and Sarai grips her wrist and fingerspells  _ Love you. Callum. Ezran. Harrow,  _ into Amaya’s palm before her older sister’s eyes - so full of life and love and laughter for her children and her husband and her younger sister, a superheroine that couldn’t protect her when it mattered most - goes dark. 

It’s only the vibrations in her throat that clue Amaya into how she’s sobbing  _ I need to get it out! Let me get it out!  _ as she scrubs at her hands and Janai’s eyes are wide, panicked. Janai’s hands cover hers, guiding her, and suddenly she’s soaked to the bone but Amaya can  _ breathe  _ as the blood disappears from under her fingernails.

Janai’s hand is still braced on her forearms and Amaya lifts her head.  _ Breathe,  _ Janai mouths and doesn’t look away even as her own eyes are glassy.  _ Breathe, Amaya. Can I undress you? _

There’s a time that would’ve started a fire in Amaya but now she just tucks her chin against her chest and nods. Gentle, caring hands peel away the soaked material of whatever shirt Janai had dressed her in the night before and the pants come not long after and soon Amaya’s completely naked, standing under a warm spray of water that even now she can’t seem to stop shaking.

Janai deposits the sopped clothing in the sink before turning back. Her eyes are understanding.

_ Do you need my help? _

Amaya hesitates. She’s never needed help - not from anyone or for anything. She’s always been self-sufficient, able to withstand anything. She’s not someone who asks for help.

She isn’t asking, though, and the thought of standing alone in a shower with her sister’s name rattling around in her head like a lone penny in a piggybank makes Amaya nod, head still down. The shower tiles beneath her feet are pristine white and she doesn’t look up as the curtain moves aside and still fully dressed, Janai steps under the spray with her.

Although she’s naked, Janai’s eyes don’t leave her face.  _ Turn around,  _ she signs and Amaya complies. 

There’s a few beats where she’s left staring at the wall of the bathtub before Janai’s hand comes around to grab a bottle of shampoo. Moments later she’s replacing the bottle on the shelf and Amaya sighs as two hands massage into her scalp. The warm spray of water down her back combined with the steady circles of Janai’s soapy fingers in the fringe of Amaya’s hair calms the drum inside her chest enough that breathing in no longer feels like climbing a mountain.

Janai must move aside because then the water is on her fully and Janai’s hands are washing away the dirt and grime and sweat out of her hair. Conditioner follows and Amaya closes her eyes to the feeling of Janai combing her fingers through her cropped hair before rinsing, too.

There’s a tap on her shoulder. Amaya half-turns. 

_ I’ll go make breakfast,  _ Janai signs and steps out from under the spray. Her clothes are plastered to her body, one of her braids stuck to her cheek and Amaya doesn’t realize she’s reaching for it until she brushes it aside. They both freeze and something in Janai’s eyes shift. 

She takes a step back but there’s nothing stand-offish in her stance.  _ Can you finish? I’ll leave clothes and a towel. _

Amaya nods and Janai closes the door behind her.

She tilts her head back into the spray, letting the warm rivlets run down her cheeks, and sighs. The soap in the dish smells like the clothes Janai peeled off her and Amaya swallows down even more tears at that and lets the water wash away the last of her blood.

Shivering when she steps out of the shower, Amaya dresses quickly in the dry clothes folded on the toilet seat. Her hair drips down her neck as she winces when the stitches pull before wandering into the hallway.  The walls are empty of any pictures or art and Amaya keeps one hand firmly set on it as she walks. Floorboards moving underneath her bare feet, she pauses in the doorway to where the hallway opens to the rest of the kitchen.

Janai stands at the stove, back to Amaya, hips swaying slightly to what Amaya guesses is a song coming from the speaker on the countertop. Sunlight streams in through the large bay windows at the far side of the apartment and Amaya doesn’t realize she’s moving until her hand presses to the glass and she’s gazing out at the city around her.

Sometimes she forgets how beautiful New York City is. The stitches in her side pull when she wrenches up the pane but she ignores it, instead sticking her head out into the morning air.  It must be sometime past noon and the city bustles around her. Although Janai lives on the outskirts, there’s still plently of noises that she can hear - the low honking of cars in the distance, bass of music from passing bikers on their daily commute, the heartbeat of the woman behind her.

Amaya turns. From her spot at the stove, Janai smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and flips another pancake before looking up. “Glad you remembered how to bathe yourself.”

It’s an olive branch and Amaya takes it gratefully. She sinks onto the couch with a low groan that makes Janai’s shoulders tense up. Silence falls between them and Amaya averts her eyes as Janai rounds the couch with a plate that she pushes into her hands.

_ I’m sorry. _

Janai blows out a breath and crouches so that Amaya’s unable to look away.  _ I’m not mad. Why didn’t you tell me sooner, about…? _

She doesn’t say Sarai’s name but Amaya’s mouth goes dry anyway. She swallows thickly, the pancake like dust in her throat.

_ You said you never wanted to hear from me again. It hurt too much. I was fine. I am fine. _

Janai’s hand lifts her chin and she signs deliberately.  _ You’re not fine. You never were, Amaya, and that’s okay. I’m not mad. _

_ Why are you being so nice?  _ Amaya’s hands say before she can stop them. She searches Janai’s amber eyes, looking for an answer because she’s lost, truly lost.  _ You didn’t have to help me. You didn’t have to bathe me, or make me breakfast, or listen to me sob in the shower about my dead sister. _

Pain ripples through Janai’s eyes at that and she looks away, chest heaving. Amaya is hit with the reminder that while it’s been little more than a year since Sarai’s death for her, for Janai it’s been mere minutes. All because Amaya was too much of a coward to call her ex - one  _ she  _ hurt - and tell her that her best friend was dead. 

Amaya lurches forward and straight into Janai’s side. She thinks Janai cried out at the motion but Amaya curls her arms around Janai’s middle, presses her face into her stomach, and cries. After a breathless moment that hangs in the air like a question that doesn’t need answering, Janai’s arms come to cradle Amaya and the pancakes are forgotten on their laps.

Janai trembles against her. Even as she herself cries, Amaya holds Janai - just because it’s been five years doesn’t mean she doesn’t remember how to hold the woman. Somehow they shift until they’re both on their sides, noses all but pressed together as their arms encircle the other and the plates fall to the floor. When Janai tucks her face into Amaya collarbone and sobs, Amaya closes her eyes. There’s a pulling in her side again, a reminder of how she ended up here in the first place and she doesn’t know how long they stay there, wrapped up in each other’s embrace like there isn’t five years worth of bitterness and deleted contact numbers between them.

It’s... _ nice. _

It’s a reminder of everything Amaya threw away five years ago. She tries to swallow the bitter-tasting thought but it lingers, slithering around her tongue, venomous.  _ She  _ was the one that pushed Janai away until it all exploded that night,  _ she  _ was the one that ended it,  _ she  _ was the one that packed her things into cardboard boxes and didn’t call the night Sarai’s blood seemed permanently tattooed under her fingernails.

She has absolutely no right to be holding Janai like this, like she’s faultless, but Amaya doesn’t move. How could she?

The sun is starting its descent into late afternoon by the time Janai stirs in her embrace. Half-asleep as she is, dozing on whatever pain pills Janai had forced into her the night before, Amaya waits as the woman props herself up on one elbow and just stares down at her.

_ What? _

Janai chuckles hollowly, eyes rimmed red and swollen. She cups Amaya’s cheek. “I thought I lost you last night,” she says slowly, so that Amaya can read her lips. It feels too heavy to say with her hands. “I cried in the bathroom before stitching you up, cried when I was done, cried in the shower as I had to wash away your blood on my hands. I can’t do that again, Amaya.”

Amaya averts her eyes. Her throat is raw, hoarse, but she meets Janai halfway.

“I know,” she rasps, so lowly the sound meets her ears as the vibrations pain her throat. She licks her lips, winces as she swallows. “I know. I won’t come back, I promise this time. I’ll leave you alone, walk out-”

Janai seizes her chin, eyes watery.

“You’re an idiot, Amaya Evans,” she cries, cheeks wet and she chokes on a dry sob. “I’m not saying go. I couldn’t take you leaving again. I’m saying... _ stay.” _

_ Stay? _

“Stay?”

Janai nods and Amaya’s eyebrows furrow as she tries to sit up. “But-”

She doubles over with a cry, hand coming to her side. Pain lashes through her, sharp and deep, and she gasps as Janai slides off the couch to push her down and lift the hem of her shirt. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Amaya realizes how  _ intimate  _ the whole thing is but her fingers curl into the leather of the couch with the hurt.

Janai’s cold fingers ghost the skin around the stitches and Amaya bites down on her lip to muffle the sigh of relief. 

_ You didn’t rip them,  _ Janai signs after a moment with relief in her eyes.  _ You need to not move so much. _

Neither of them move from their place and Amaya lifts her head.  _ Did you mean-? _

Janai nods, looking down at the stitches before replacing Amaya’s shirt back over it and looking her in the eye.  _ I said I couldn’t do this again, watching you bleed out and I mean it. I can’t watch you let yourself get beat up out there when Callum and Ezran are at home, waiting for you. The waiting almost killed me and it killed our relationship. I can’t let that happen to them, too. _

Amaya swallows. Janai’s hand cups her cheek and she half-smiles through tears. 

_ I know why you did it. I’m not asking you to open the door fully, but let me look in through a window. Even if it is through a fire escape. _

Before she’s had the time to process it, Amaya is sitting up - dodging Janai’s hands to push her back down - and pressing her lips to Janai’s. It’s a split second of warmth, chapped lips and traces of salt and then Amaya’s freezing.

She tears back. Janai sits, stunned, one hand tracing her lips as Amaya tries to find anything else in the apartment to look at besides her. She’s fucked up - badly - Amaya braces herself for the yelling, the tears, the moment she’ll have Janai’s apartment door slammed in her face-

It never comes.

Janai’s finger taps the back of her hand, drawing Amaya’s eyes hesitantly back. She starts at the sight before her; Janai isn’t yelling but... _ smiling  _ almost.

_ It’s not a window,  _ she signs,  _ but thank you for leaving the door cracked open. _

Amaya breathes out. It’s nothing more than a step in the right direction, an olive branch just barely extended, but she’ll take it.

_ Can you call the boys? _

Janai’s eyes soften further, if that’s possible.  _ Can I go pick them up and they stay here the night? I have a guest bedroom and the couch. I don’t think you should be moving just yet, Spidey.” _

The sign for  _ Spidey  _ is nothing more than her wrists pressed together, hands pointed in opposite positions and fingers extended, waggling like legs, but Amaya smiles at it. It’s  _ their  _ sign, the sign they made up when Amaya first got herself stuck to the ceiling and Janai came home to find her freaking out.

_ Their. _

Amaya likes the sound of it. She inclines her head in agreement and types in Callum’s number into Janai’s phone when it’s presented. Janai doesn’t take her hand off Amaya’s as she brings it to her ear and Amaya closes her eyes.

Janai’s hand squeezes hers, letting her know she’s leaving, and Amaya is too exhausted to even nod. Something brushes her forehead, sweeping the hair aside, and she smiles softly. She’s not sure, but she would know that feeling anywhere - she could never forget it. Not in five or a million years.

She doesn’t realize she’s fallen asleep until she jolts awake as a weight flies onto her. The pain that rears up is enough to make her want to cry but Amaya blinks away the sudden tears to see the two figures in her lap, staring up at her with tears in their eyes.

_Sarai’s_ eyes.

Her _boys._

Amaya sweeps them into her arms with a ragged sob and Ezran clutches at her shirt, burying his face in the fabric and cries. His little shoulders shake with the effort and Amaya is reminded, painfully, that she is all he has left of his mother, beside his brother.

Speaking of Callum. Amaya turns her head.

Although Ezran is splayed out on her chest, Callum kneels on the floor near her shoulder, clutching her hand. There’s tears spilling down his cheeks so quickly she knows at once he must have held them until now for his little brother’s sake and her heart breaks all over again.

He’s signing into her palm.

_ Not again,  _ he signs over and over until he lifts his head to meet her eyes.  _ Don’t leave again. _

With the hand not wrapped around Ezran’s shoulders, Amaya tugs him up until his head notches into her collarbone and she can bury her nose in his mop of brown hair. She breathes in the scent of the shampoo they all use, closes her eyes to the burning, and when she opens them Janai stands in the doorway.

_ Thank you,  _ Amaya mouths and looks down. Ezran is asleep on her chest, hand curled close to his chest as he snoozes and Amaya feels the tell-tale fluff of Bait’s tail against her ankles. She knows if she looked over Ezran’s sleeping form she would see the grumpy yellow tabby.

Of  _ course  _ Ezran brought him. Of _course_ Janai let him.

Amaya’s fingers card through the waves of Callum’s hair and Janai crosses the room silently to bend down.  _ There’s nothing to thank me for,  _ she mouths and presses her lips - after a split second of hesitation - to Amaya’s forehead.

At the sensation, Amaya lets her tired eyes slide closed. It’s a step in the right direction and with Ezran asleep on her chest and Callum’s breath puffing against her neck, cuddled close on Janai’s couch, she finds herself able to simply  _ be  _ for the first time in almost a year.

She sleeps easy that night, and the nights after until she’s well enough to stand. Callum’s worried eyes follow her every step around Janai’s apartment and it’s one night over spaghetti that Amaya announces timidly she thinks she’s ready to leave and go back to their apartment.

Ezran cheers from where he’s sneaking his meatballs under the table to where Amaya knows Bait is seated, probably yowling, and Janai sets down her fork.  _ Alright,  _ she nods and sets her hand on Amaya’s.  _ If you’re ready. _

Amaya meets her eyes. There’s no malice, no bitterness, no sadness there - so unlike the night almost a week ago. She finds herself smiling and retracts her hand, takes another bite of the pasta.

Callum chatters on about something in chess club at school and Amaya watches Janai out of the corner of her eye. The woman doesn’t start when Amaya’s pinkie brushes hers under the table but hooks her own around the digit instead and their intertwined hands fall in the space between them, underneath the lip of the table and hidden from view.

Amaya swallows her smile with a gulp of water. 

For now, it’s adequate enough to satisfy them both. Whatever is between them, now, five years senior, is new and makes her heart race but it’s sufficient.

One day, maybe it’ll be  _ enough. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COME YELL ON TWITTER ABT JANAYA TO POET (@ earthbIood) AND I (@ korrqsato)

**Author's Note:**

> little notes: amaya is still deaf in this but with the addition of the spider's enhancements and spidey sense, she can hear low-grade sounds. her abilities will be described more in p2 (eyes) but for now amaya just prefers to lip-read inside the mask because it helps her out and then use asl outside of it. 
> 
> see you friday!! poet and i are BURSTING with excitement to show you what we've been working on for literal hours.


End file.
